“There are two ways of seeing: with the body and with the soul. The body's sight can sometimes forget, but the soul remembers forever.” - Edmond Dantes, The Count Of Monte Cristo

Husky sat drinking his coffee at the all night diner. He stretched his arms and rotated his neck . The 6 hour flight from Chicago to Vegas and the 12 hour one to Philly on the same day had taken its toll on him. He had tried to catch some sleep but his thoughts had kept him awake. So much had transpired in the past few days. The man who had given him refuge after his crew in Vegas had wiped out, the man he had followed from New York to Chicago, the man he had come to respect , was now dead. Some claimed it was an act of the gods, others claimed a sting by the FBN . It did not matter, the fact remained that Menace was dead. 

It was difficult for him to not see the pattern. While he knew it was a childish thought, he could not help but wonder if he really was cursed. People did seem to have a tendency to die around him. "If that is true? What the fuck am I doing out here?" he thought to himself as he took another sip. Why had he come to Philly? Why now, when all this while he had convinced himself to stay away? This trip could only end in disaster or disappointment, but he knew he would not resist till he saw these streets. Till he saw her.

Ever since his resurrection, Husky had chosen to keep his distance from her. Nothing good would come from him re-entering her life. She was better off moving on. That is why even though they were both in Vegas, he did not seek her out. He could not seek her out. Every fibre in his new body begged him to reach out to her, let her know he was alive, but he didn't. He truly believed he could survive never meeting her again. So when Vegas fell, and he heard she had moved to The Wilshire, he immediately travelled to the opposite coast and joined The Broadway Mob.

But his destiny as always did not like his attempts at deviating from the pre-destined path. Vivian Ward was dead and The Wilshire disbanded. Husky had sat quiet for an hour with his head buried in his hands when he first heard the news. His heart was telling him to go to Vegas and find out if she were still alive. His brain was telling him that would only have terrible consequences. If she was alive, she was better off without him. But what if she were hurt ? What if she had forgotten him? What is she was on the run and needed shelter? What if she did not want to see him? What if ..she was dead? No..She was a tough broad, no way would she go out without a fight, would she?

He knew he would get no sleep till he found out for sure. Grabbing his coat he walked out of the door and hailed a cab. "Airport quick as you can" He said anxiously. The cabbie raised an eyebrow at the lack of luggage but shrugged and stepped on the gas. A few hours later he was in Vegas again. He had not visited the city since its fall from grace, but he still knew enough people to point him in the right direction. A few well placed bribes in right pockets and honeyed words in right ears later he had heard all he needed to hear. Someone had seen her trusty bodyguard Guiseppe in Philly. If anyone knew what happened to her or where she was it would be him. There was no hesitation this time, he would go in the hopes of seeing her. Even if it was just once to satisfy his aching heart , even if it was just to meet her piercing green gaze once again, he would go see her. So it happened that two hours after he had landed in Vegas he was on his way out of the city. There was no more point in staying, after all that had happened the city had lost its allure. 

Landing in the late hours of the night he headed to the local speakeasy and asked around for any information he could. The bartender was more than happy to sing whatever songs he wanted to hear when he saw the money Husky was offering. He had overheard Guiseppe talk about an art heist he was planning and how he needed a confidence man to complete his gang. Husky's smile turned into a loud guffaw when he heard that. Fate had a cruel sense of humour for the last time he had seen her was after her heist in Detroit. "Good man. Pour me a Fort Wayne would you." Husky said cheerfully after he got directions for the diner where Guiseppe was supposed to meet the potential gang members. 

The bartender froze when he heard that. "A F-Fort Wayne?" he stuttered. "It's a double Canadian whiskey, ne-" Husky began before he was interrupted. "Neat, no ice. I know what it is. But we don't serve them anymore. A guy out Detroit way used to supply the Canadian. Tall guy with a funny hat, loved the Fort Wayne's. My cousin from Black Bottom taught me how to make the drink. Said it was named for something the man had done, said the man swore by them. Sure enough every time he stopped by around here he'd order them. But ever since Detroit was massacred, the Canadian supply has died down and no one asks for the drink anymore. You'd be better off drinking something else"  The bartender replied. Husky sighed while rising up and said "Never mind then, guess I'll just head out." Tossing him a tip Husky walked out and headed to the diner.

It was the early hours of the morning now, the sun was just barely visible over the horizon outside the window as he sat drinking his coffee. Husky was not prone to impulsive decisions but a series of them had still brought him here. So he sat in the same clothes he had been wearing the night before yesterday lazily smoking a cigarette. His beard was unkempt, his shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up, his tie hung loosely and his eyes were desperately trying to keep themselves open. Running his hands through his hair he smiled. He wondered who would be foolish enough to hire a confidence man who looked as dishevelled as him when their were men dressed in sharp suits sitting beside him, looking like exiled Spanish princes with their elegant handlebar moustaches and gelled back hair, wanting the same job. 

He saw a car stop outside and recognized Guiseppe stepping out as the large man held the passenger's door open for someone to exit. His breath caught in his throat as a woman, dressed in pinstripes that hugged her curves stepped out. A few strands of her red hair sneaking out of her fedora glistened under the first rays of the sun as if they were kissed by fire. The two of them walked towards the door and Husky forced himself to breathe again. As they walked in, the other candidates stood up to greet them. But he sat quietly in the corner , smoking his cigarette. His heart fluttered with joy when her eyes, two emerald pools brimming with a melancholy desire for something familiar, yearning for someone familiar, landed on his.

The ghost of a smile spread on his face when he realized LuckyLucy was alive.

"Every night, I dream you're still here.
The ghost by my side, so perfectly clear."

-Still Here by Digital Daggers

Giuseppe opened her door and Lucy stepped out of the car.  “We could try it without the confidence.”  She remarked, not for the first time.

“Detroit.”  He reminded.

Lucy sighed.  She hadn’t forgotten how badly things had turned out the last time she heavy handed an art heist.  It wasn’t pretty and if Husky hadn’t… Lucy cut off her own thoughts on that topic.  The last thing she needed to do today was think of him.  “I don’t know that I’m ready for this.”

“You’re ready.”

“What if I’m not?”  she asked, genuinely concerned about her own ability at this moment.  Despite her protests, she began walking to the diner’s front door.

“You are.”  Her bodyguard reassured.

“Maybe we should wait a bit?  We just buried the dead.”

“The families are making moves, Lucy.  If you want to stand out from the crowd, you need to get a job done and fast.  Something to make Arya see you as worthy of her family, something to put some pennies in the HQ coffers.”

She wet her lips, stopping at the door.  Giuseppe reached for the handle and pulled it open for her.  She whispered, “Let’s just pick a guy and get it over with.”

“Got a plan on how to decide?”  He asked as they stepped inside.

Upon seeing her choices, she was slightly annoyed.  They could have been clones of one another, each one as greasy looking as their slick backed hair.  Only a total rube would buy these guys as old east coast money looking to get a foothold in Philly’s art scene.  No one would trust them with that story – Giuseppe had found the worst lot of con-men she’d ever seen for the job as she described it.  She shot her man a sideways glance which promised they’d be talking about his recruiting skills later. 

Well… she’d have to change the angle.  Maybe go with a rip deal instead.  Guy could be some sort of old European money – distantly related Spanish nobility maybe?  Jet set type from Monoco or some such needing to switch up European cash for American dough.  Yea.  It could still be done. 

Lucy nodded to herself and looked around the room. Twice her eyes passed over the dishelved man sitting near her would-be confidence men before she came to consider him.  Not for the job, heaven’s he looked like he slept in those clothes and hadn’t shaved in at least a day.  No – she considered whether she could interview these guys with him sitting so near. 

She walked confidently back to her would-be con-men.  “Gentlemen?”  They stood for her.  At least chivalry wasn’t totally dead.  “Good Morning.  I’m Lucky Lucy.  Please, have a seat.”  Each took their places at their table in the back of the room, still in ear shot of the rough looking loner. 

When the rough looking man wasn’t look at her, which oddly took a moment or two because he did seem to be admiring her quite a bit, she held up a finger indicating she wanted silence from the men interviewing with her.  She pulled out a pen from her jacket and wrote instructions on a napkin as she spoke.

“I hope the coffee is good here.  Most of the coffee I’ve had since getting here has been garbage.  I need something worth a damn if I’m going to think at this ungodly hour.  I’m afraid jet-lag has got the better of me still.”

She passed the note to the men in front of her.  It read:

Rip Deal.

Need to see you work first. 

Show me what you can do. 

Here. 

Without leaving.

One man immediately looked annoyed.  He didn’t want to be tested by Lucy or anyone else.  He tipped his hat and made his way to the door without another word. 

Another greaser stood and went towards the man at the cash register.  Clearly, he’d decided to work that angle, but it wasn’t money alone that would prove a man could do a confidence job.  The last man seemed to understand that.  He had to earn a mark’s trust.  He chose an easier mark than the owner who might have seen such things before –  he picked the tired looking loner.

Lucy leaned back in her seat, with a smirk.  At least breakfast would come with entertainment.

The waitress came up and poured her a cup of coffee.  “What can I get ya, Miss?”

Lucy waved a hand.  “Come back in ten minutes.  Let me try to down this coffee first.”

The waitress nodded and made her way around the last man who was now standing near the loner.  She wondered if either would prove successful in their efforts to impress her as a confidence man or if she and Giuseppe would end up spending the day scraping the bottom of Philly’s wise guy barrel.

" 'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood. When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
   I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form. Come in, she said, I'll give ya shelter from the storm."
- Bob Dylan, Shelter From The Storm

Husky saw her sit down with the men, disregarding him but still conscious of his movements. He considered walking away. Now that he knew she was alive, he could leave in peace. But his heart wouldn't let him. He had ached for her presence in his life and now that she was here, he could not just leave. Besides, she did not have a great history with art heists. The last time she had tried it she'd found herself covered in blood and on the run stumbling into his laundromat. 

Having found his excuse, Husky knew he wanted in on the job. Looking around he saw his rivals work on their marks. One of thee greasers was engaging the owner in conversation, a little too hard at his jokes. Another tried to schmooze the waitress who looked awkward and uncomfortable. A third choosing what he presumed was an easy mark headed towards Husky and said politely "Hello there friend can I sit here?" "It's a free country. Enjoy the coffee." Husky replied and stood up. Leaving a tip he nodded to the greaser and walked towards the door. The fool had lost the moment he had chosen an easy mark. This job was hopeless if she was going to pick any of them. But maybe that's why he felt the need to stay there. 

Turning around he sat down opposite Lucy. Sparing only a fleeting glance towards Guiseppe's hand now resting on his holster, Husky lit a cigarette with his silver lighter and placed it on the table, the words Memento Sumptus clearly visible. Taking a long drag he let the smoke stay in his mouth as he met her gaze. What was a con man who lacked the confidence to go after the hardest mark? Letting the smoke escape , he took a moment to compose his thoughts and said, "A few men dressed to the nines waiting in a diner at 6 in the morning, joined by an enchanting woman with an armed bodyguard? I'd heard the pie here was good, but this seems like a bit of a stretch."

Looking around he saw the others glance nervously at him as they tried to focus their attentions at their marks. With a chuckle he said, "From the way these poor schmucks are obviously busy flattering these people here at this time, I'd guess you're auditioning Confidence men for a job." Pausing to see if her stoic expression had cracked he continued, "Ah but what job could it be? The local museum has nothing valuable enough, the state bank is too well guarded after the recent attempt. Ofcourse, I see it now." His smile grew as his eyes lit up at the thought. "Stealing a Degas from the Baroness of Chester's manor, probably during her 21st birthday celebration requires some serious coglioni Miss Fazzone. I admire that in a woman. Fearlessness." He said with a nod in acknowledgement. Her eyes slightly widened and that was all the affirmation he needed. 

"So what are you thinking? A Leon Spinks or an Irwin Allen would take too much effort. Maybe a Looky-Loo with a Swinging Priest? Personally I'd recommend a Boesky mixed with a Cartwheel. Simple and elegant. I'm sure one of these men might be able to do the job if they had a couple years to practice." He said with a sly grin as he rested his back against the chair, lazily pulling the cigarette to his mouth for another drag as he awaited her response, seemingly nonchalant but inwardly hoping for a positive reaction.

Lucy looked at the lighter.  Her eyes were frozen to it as the man talked on and on about what she might be doing or how she might pull it off.  All the while she was silent.  Beside her Giuseppe kept his hand on his iron.  

When the man was done talking, Giuseppe finally speaks up, "You're the Fort Wayne from the other day."

At the name of Husky's favorite drink, Lucy blinked once, and then made her move.  Her hands, so tiny, were skilled at the art of slight of hand. In less than a heartbeat, she'd snatched up the lighter with her right hand.  Street games had been a thing for her, early on.  She'd made a fair amount of pocket change with them.  The man, having put the lighter out onto the table - open for her to take, made the temptation far too much to resist.  

She ran her thumb over the engraved letters and remembered the last time she'd seen them.  There weren't two lighters like this in all the world and Husky would never give his away.  She lifted her eyes from the lighter and looked around.  She made note of the exits and she searched the faces & body language of everyone in the room wondering who was with this guy.  Was he a lone hitman?  Had he come to seek out the last of SMOG or The Wilshire and finish what others had started?  Had he done something to Husky in order to take something so dear from him?  

When she finally spoke up, her tone was slow, dark, and accusatory without saying anything too specific at all.  "Where did you get this?"

He had been surprised by the speed of her hands. With agility like that it was a wonder she wasn't a quickdraw. "Robbed it from a grave in Detroit. Had a soot-stained fedora in the casket and a lighter. The tip said it was a barb stash. Couldn't be further from the truth " He replied composing himself, wondering how much of the lie she believed.

"Got the inscription done soon afterwards. And picked up a few traits from what I heard about him. Figured he'd make a good alias." He continued with a shrug as her eyes settled down a bit and focused on him. As she fiddled with the lighter , feeling the familiar cold silver caress her fingers, he looked at the men still trying to con their marks and shook his head. 

Turning to her he pointed to the lighter and said. "Your taste in artefacts is far better than your .." nodding towards the others he continued "..taste in men, Miss Fazzone. These guys can never hope to charm the Baroness long enough for you and your boys to get to work. Perhaps you should give up on this idea?" If he did not ask him to join, perhaps he could dissuade her instead. 

Lucy was looking at the lighter again when the man commented on her taste in men and the certain failure of her job.  "Yes, well, my taste in men is legendarily poor."  She brought the lighter up to her heart, as if to hold it - and by extension Husky, close for one final time.  Swallowing back her pain she put the lighter down onto the table with purpose and pushed it towards him, withdrawing her hand as fast as if the object were a snake coiled to strike.

At the counter, things were going sideways as the owner was manually throwing out the failed confidence man.  Giuseppe shook his head & as the stranger at her table took a glance at the disturbance, under the table, Lucy put her hand on Giuseppe's gun hand. She pat it to get him to stand down and he did so.

"You're also right about this lot.  I'm new in town and with a new crew - so my ability to draw quality talent is somewhat..." She paused as she watched the waitress open hand slap the second guy so hard that his head spun.  "...lessened."

"I'm sorry, Lucy."  Giuseppe muttered.

She shook her head 'no' at his comment but never looked at her bodyguard.  "Wait in the car."  She instructed.  Perhaps she'd allowed Giuseppe to become too close and he'd lost his touch as a result.  No matter the truth, he needed to know how angry she was with him for leaving her open to look so foolish - or worse she could have hired one of these clowns and failed so badly that it cost another guy his life.  Sending him away in a moment like this would drive him crazy.  He hated leaving her alone, but with a stranger... this would be as embarrassing to him as this whole clown act was to her.

She watched Giuseppe walk out and the other waitress come towards them.  "Ready to put in that order?"

"Bacon.  Extra crispy.  Burn it if you must.  Eggs, sunny-side up.  White toast.  Don't skimp on the butter."  The woman jotted it all down and then looked to her companion and Lucy added, "Get him a fresh cup of coffee, however he was drinking it and scram."

She nodded and made tracks fast.  

"So,"  She began, taking up her cup of coffee and sipping it.  "You know your stuff about Confidence work.  And... you did your homework on me after seeing Giuseppe's slopping recruiting efforts yesterday."  She nodded slowly, considering what that might mean about his thoughts on her and who she was.  Yet, he'd assumed she was recruiting for an art heist and not a hit.  So did he really know about Junior Whitehill?  Surly not.  Anyone who did seemed to figure her for a shooter and this guy thought her into something more elegant than racking up a butcher's bill.

"I'm at a disadvantage here and I can't work like that - so let's start simple."  She put down her cup.  "What's your name?"

Husky barely concealed a smile as he saw the others fail miserably. As he turned, he saw the bodyguard leave reluctantly. Giuseppe was a good man. Overzealous and overprotective perhaps, but from what Lucy had told him in Detroit he was among her closest confidantes. 

He sipped his coffee quietly as the waitress brought her order . His name, he wondered how to respond to that. The truth would only lead to her walking away in disbelief. He had to find a middle ground. Rubbing the stubble on his chin he said, "Names are dangerous things Miss Fazzone." Pausing to look up at her he smiled wondering if she recognized the familiar phrase and then continued. "I find collecting aliases from dead men to be an easier way to live. Johnny Costanza, Orion Ilianopolous , Alexander Knight and more recently..." Gesturing towards the lighter he added "..Husky Radhe."

"People don't realise how common these names are, until they see someone else bearing the name of someone they lost. You can have your men contact The Broadway Mob in Chicago, they will verify my credentials. Husky Radhe con man extraordinaire." He said with a slight nod.

Husky took a moment to collect his thoughts and decide how much he wanted to reveal to her. Meeting her suspicious gaze he said  "You are right in assuming I did my research, but you are unaware of the extent of it. I know you barely escaped the fall of Vegas. I know you found shelter in these streets but have barely been able to make yourself stand out. Like a wounded dog you have been licking your wounds waiting for an opportunity to shine. I know you are desperate to seize this opportunity but you also know you can't find another con man on such short notice. I know the Baroness is a dangerous mark and going without a con man will only end up in you hiding in laundromats, desperate to get the blood of the gang members off your clothes. I know a lot, but I do not know everything. So I have a question Miss Fazzone, the only question that matters."

Pausing to sip his coffee, he dragged the moment out as long as he could. Licking his lips he looked up again and with a sly smile on his face he enquired "Are you desperate enough to hire me even though you do not trust me?"

When he said he was Husky, she was nearly sick all over the table.  She imagined pulling her father's gun out of her coat and shooting him point blank in the face.  It would be fitting that such a monster would be only the second person she'd ever killed.  As he went on talking about the deaths of her friends and how she'd run for her life - as if he KNEW anything about the hell she'd been through this week; the urge to shoot him only grew.  Not just because it hurt her pride, being referred to as a wounded dog licking her wounds, but because he was right.

'Damn you, you son of a bitch.  Damn you to hell.'

Tears pooled, unshed, in her emerald eyes.  Her face was a well-spring of disgust for the man in front of her.  What could she say?  He was right that she desperately needed a confidence man - and this asshole was brimming with it.  If his words didn't burn so bad, he might be called charmingly smug - a trait she'd been known to find attractive; but not today.

"I've got half a mind to call Chicago and do as you suggest.  You got some nerve running around there using Husky's name - it's liable to get you an early grave if he finds out and right now... I can't say that would hurt my feelings too much."  She drew a ragged breath and steadied herself.

"I had an uncle - in the first family that took me in after the Whitehill incident.  He was cocky and vain like you - though I'd say he dressed a slight bit better.  The boys use to call him Chanticleer.  It was a shitty pompous name for a shitty pompous guy who died pretty infamously sitting his pompous ass on a shitter."  She picks up her coffee and sips it.  "I'll call you that while we're on this job of ours - if you're in for say... a twenty percent of the take?"

Husky watched intently as her eyes simmered with tears of rage. He could see her face contort with disgust at his words and it saddened him. Not because of what she thought of his words, but because she had still held on to the hope that he had not died in Detroit. But he knew her desperation was now battling her disgust, and with the way her expression eased, it would appear her desperation was winning.

"You can call whoever you want Miss Fazzone, but you will not like what you hear. They will tell you I am who I say I am and they will tell you my namesake died in the massacre of Detroit. So forgive me for not shaking in my boots at the prospect of a dead guy coming after me." He said with venom in his voice though it hurt him more than it would ever hurt her. He knew he could not let himself into her life again. That would only lead to misery and conflict. So though it pained him immeasurably, he lied to her.

Closing his eyes to compose himself and hide from her emerald eyes piercing into his soul he sighed. Forcing a smile he looked at her again and said "While I wouldn't mind letting you derive some sick pleasure from calling me that, I don't imagine it would go well with the mark. But I like where your head's at. Something French, something exotic. As for the takings, we both know you're in no position to bargain."

Scribbling his address on a napkin as he stood up he said, "I am still a reasonable man. I don't intend to rob you blind. You can find me here. Whether you agree to a third of the take or send men to kill me is upto you. Je, Reynard Lacroix attend votre réponse" With an over the top bow he was out the door.

Lucy disregarded everything the man said about Husky being dead.  What did he know!  Just because he had some of Husky's things meant nothing.  Wise Guys faked their deaths every day to get the heat off them... he didn't know Husky like she did.  His friends in Chicago didn't either.

Well... he was a showman, she'd give him that.  If she didn't need him so badly it would be perfectly easy to hate him, but no.  She had to keep her calm and work with him.  She had to rebuild her reputation among her peers and earn her crew's respect as a capable member of the family.  What she didn't have to do was EVER call him Husky Radhe.  It wasn't his name to use and while she might pay him what he asked - in truth she had to - she could hold her ground on this point.  

Leaving a pile of bills on the table for the breakfast she could no longer stomach the idea of, she left just as soon as Chanticleer was out of sight.